I'll Find You
by coffeegirl161924
Summary: She is a beautiful, enchanting actress, the toast of the theater world--and anything she desires is hers for the asking. But the incomparable lady guards her share of secrets: a magical past and a mystery husband she dares not mention and cannot love.
1. Prologue

Prologue Hogwarts Castle, 1999

The music of the Victory Day celebration filled the air, drifting from the village to the castle.

One of the occupants of the castle, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, wandered along the road leading to the village.

Harry is not a frivolous man, and is, in fact, uncomfortable with the celebration. While others have regained their lives, for the past year he had devoted his life to grieving the lost of his beloved mother, Lily, recuperating from his battle and his defeat with Tom Riddle, and as much as he hated doing it, attending to ailing father, James Potter.

The responsibilities he had assumed did not allow time for leisure. He wasn't drawn to the village to celebrate anything, but just for the simple need to be out of the school grounds. He didn t want to come here, but as others have told him, people needed him to be there. They needed to see The-Boy-Who-Defeated-The-Dark-Lord .

All he wanted was to escape.

Unobtrusively Harry stood at the edge of the crowd while the evening darkened. Like the other wizards present, Harry took note of the particularly attractive girls. It had been a long time since he'd had time to think of girls.

Harry's chest moved in a taut sigh. He watched the revelry for a few minutes more, conscious of an emptiness inside that refused to abate. Deciding to return to the castle and indulge in a shot or an entire bottle of Firewhiskey, he turned away. All of a sudden, his attention was caught by a group of strolling witches that had arrived to take part in the festivities.

A few of those in the crowd encouraged the new arrivals to join. Two of the women complied, but the third, a slender girl with crimson hair pinned to the crown of her head, shook her head adamantly but someone placed a circlet of flowers on her head, making her laugh reluctantly as she followed the other girls in their path around the garlanded tree.

Harry watched her in fascination. She was easily distinguishable by her hair. It was strange, the effect she had on him, his body turning hollow with yearning, every sense focused on the sight of her and the high, sweet sound of her laughter.

She's just a girl, he told himself silently, trying in vain to rid himself of the urges that consumed him. She's a girl like any other. But that wasn't true. The strength of his reaction to her alarmed and electrified him. He s learned to guard his vulnerability to sudden impulses since his mother s dead. But it seemed that all the recklessness he s been able to control for the past year had come over him in one moment.

Because of her.

Harry moved around the edge of the crowd with the deliberateness a seasoned Auror would be proud of, his gaze locked on her. He wasn't certain what he intended to do, only that he had to be near her. Laughing, gasping for breath, she managed to decline the invitation to dance and turned to walk away. The garland of flowers flew from her head and landed near Harry's feet. He bent and closed his fingers around it, unconsciously crushing some of the fragrant petals.

The girl wandered away from the crowd, seemingly going to an inn near Hogwarts. Harry followed her, his heart driving hard in his chest. Although he didn't make a sound, she must have sensed his presence. She stopped and turned to face him, wand at a ready. Not minding her stance, Harry walked closer to her, stopping a scant foot away from her.

I believe this is yours, he said thickly. She looked up at him, her chocolate-brown colored eyes still shining in the darkness. The hint of a smile appeared on the tender curve of her lips, although she still held her wand at level to his chest, ready to hex him at any given moment.

Thank you. She reached for the flowers with her free hand, her cool fingers brushing his for a split second. He felt the shock of it all through his body.

Who are you? he blurted out, voice full of longing curiosity.

The girl laughed, I'm no one of importance. Just an actress with a traveling company. She hesitated briefly. And you?

He remained silent, unable to answer while the heady scents of crushed flowers, butterbeer, and perspiration filled his nostrils and made his blood rush through his veins. He wanted to tear her away from the crowd. He wanted to press his mouth against her pale skin, and unpin her hair until it rippled between his fingers. He wanted to hide her away from everyone.

He wanted

The girl regarded him curiously, tilting her head to the side. You must be from the castle, she said. All at once her expression became wary. Are you one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix?

Harry shook his head he was never part of the Order to be perfectly honest. I'm a visitor here, he said, his voice slightly hoarse. Just as you are.

She looked skeptical but seemed to relax, wand lowering just an inch.

Where are you from? Harry asked.

Her teeth flashed in the darkness. He had never seen anything as beautiful as her smile. I don't choose to think about my past. She pushed back the stray locks of gleaming crimson hair from her forehead. Why did you come outside, then? Was it to join the festivities and celebrate the Chosen One s victory?

To find you, he quipped, not even frowning as he usually does when he hears someone say, The Chosen One.

A quiet laugh escaped her, and she tensed like a bird ready to take flight. Sensing that she was about to slip away, Harry found himself acting without conscious thought. His hands came to either side of her head, holding her securely in spite of her startled protest.

Let me, he whispered, a tremor running through his fingers as they pressed against her downy cheeks. He pressed his mouth to hers, and she became very still. Her breath rushed hot and fast on his skin, while the taste of her spilled through his senses in an intoxicating rush. He felt her response, and the moment was suspended in time, more magical than anything that had ever happened to him before.

She turned her face away, making a sound of confusion. Harry was intensely aware of the velvety touch of her cheek against his, the nearness of her body. They were both silent, motionless as they drank in the sensation of standing close together.

Good night, she whispered.

Don't go, he said, but she strode away, seeming to melt into the crowd.

Although Harry could have followed, he chose not to.

He didn't want her to be real.

Let her remain a fantasy, an image he could keep for the rest of his life, untouched by the unpleasant realities that have controlled his entire life.

He left, unable to rid his mind of the sudden intuition that somehow, someday they would meet again. 


	2. Chapter 1

_London, 2001_

She was late.

Ginny quickened her pace, if she didn't reach the Muggles for Wizard offices soon, she'd hex Ron into next year. How could a grown man not be able to cook food for himself is beyond her.

"My audition," she muttered despairingly, shouldering past people on the slippery sidewalk. If only the offices of Hermione Granger's theatre company were located in Diagon Alley, she would have been there ages ago.

Today was one of the most important days of her life. If all went well, she might become part of the most successful acting company in recent wizard history. However, if she failed to impress Hermione Granger with her talents, she would have to return to the little West End performances she'd been in the last two years. She knew that she's better than being one of the unnamed actors in some of the plays she's appeared in, both muggle and magical plays alike.

Ron was the one who told her of Muggles for Wizards, which surprised her since her brother would die rather than be caught watching a play. Ginny had a feeling it was because of its owner, Hermione, that Ron frequents the theatre more than the plays.

"She's absolutely brilliant Ginny. Who would have thought of showcasing those weird muggle stories to wizards as plays?"

In less than two years, the theatre company had successfully showcased some of the best stories of the muggle writer William Shakespeare, with the last one, _"Romeo & Juliet"_ being the most successful they had to extend their performances with 10 more shows.

When she read that auditions would be held, Ginny didn't hesitate. She just had to try.

Then she saw the signage:** "MUGGLES FOR WIZARDS"**

Tightening her grip on the damp sheaf of papers in her arms, she claimed the few steps of the building. As she was about to enter the main door, she rammed into a hard object that nearly sent her sprawling backward. The stack of papers cascaded from her arms. Only a man's quick grab at her shoulders kept her from falling a few steps down.

"Are you all right?" the man inquired, steadying her.

Ginny bent to scoop up her sodden papers. "You should watch where you're going," she exclaimed.

"I might say the same to you." The man's voice still polite despite her outburst and he helped her to retrieve the fallen papers, pausing to glance at them.

Ginny took them from him before he had the chance to read anything. "I'm on my way to an audition," she said crisply. "I'm very late." She began to walk past him, but he stopped her with a light touch on her shoulder.

"Which theater company do you want?"

She looked up at him, blinking as a rain-laced breeze swept over her face. He was tall and well-built, his shoulders covered with a heavy black coat. Through the veil of rain dripping from the brim of his dark hat, she could see gentle eyes. "I'm trying to find the --," she stopped, suddenly remembering he might be a Muggle and might not even recognize Muggles for Wizards.

"—Muggles for Wizards?" he grinned at her, and indicated the already open doorway.

"How do you know that?" she asked suspiciously.

The grin turned to a smile. "I'm a member of the company."

"Oh." She was taken aback, and a touch envious. Lucky, lucky man, to be a part of such a prestigious group.

His smile remained as he contemplated her. "If you wish, I'll show you the way."

Ginny nodded and cautiously preceded him through the doorway into a quiet, dim hallway. Politely her companion waited until she removed her dripping hat and cloak, he took them from her and with a wave of his wand both items were dry.

"Hermione has charms set up all over the building. Muggles won't be able to see it, they won't be able to get pass the front steps. And since you were able to get to the front door, then you definitely are a witch," he said, opening a door and hanging the articles on the large brass hooks affixed to the wall. He removed his own hat and coat, and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair.

Ginny smoothed her own crimson hair, wishing she had a mirror to help restore her appearance.

"You look well enough," the man said, as if reading her thoughts.

For the first time, Ginny smiled at him tentatively. "I was hoping for something better than that."

He shrugged. "Your looks won't matter as much as your acting skills."

"Yes, of course." She followed him down the hallway, past dressing rooms, offices, carpenter shops, and wardrobe rooms. The Muggles for Wizards Theatre was a large place, comprised of a main theater with four satellite buildings. Plays have never been regarded as a main form of entertainment for the wizarding world, not until Hermione Granger opened her company. Under her brilliant direction, and driven by the powerful stories she decided to adapt, Muggles for Wizards had become one of the most respected companies after the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Although Hermione was still a young woman in her twenties, she had already achieved a legendary status in the Wizarding world. Not only because of the success of her company, but because of the rumors that identified her as one of those who helped Harry Potter during the Final Battle at Hogwarts. The thought of actually meeting her made Ginny's stomach flip-flop violently. If she decided that she had no talent, her career would be finished.

"How long have you been with the company?" Ginny asked, her nervousness increasing as they went deeper into the building. They passed workmen in the hallway, and turned a corner where actors' voices could be heard in the practice rooms.

"Since it began two years ago," her companion replied.

"You're very fortunate to be working with Ms. Granger."

"Am I?" he asked dryly. "She has quite a temper, you know, maybe because she's a know-it-all who can hex anyone to the next year." He added.

"That can be forgiven in such a brilliant artist."

A sardonic snort escaped him. "I think that's an overstatement."

Ginny glanced at him in surprise. "Aren't you an admirer of Ms. Granger?"

"Occasionally, yes. I just don't happen to think she's comparable to Jane Austen since she doesn't write the stories, she just happens to adapt them."

Ginny decided not to reply and just followed him.

They reached the greenroom, which was not actually green, and Ginny clutched her papers tightly as she stepped inside. The large cream-painted room was filled with well-worn chairs and settees, battered tables, and a tray piled with bread, smoked meats, and cheese. Two women were seated in the corner, while a girl and a young man were rehearsing a scene on the other side of the room, pausing to laugh at some bit of awkward choreography.

At the sight of the new arrivals, they all looked up.

"Dean," said one of the blonde women seated in the corner, "Hermione's been looking for you. You need to play "Romeo" for the auditions because Seamus managed to get himself pissed."

"Dean," Ginny thought. Dean Thomas!

Ginny stared at him with wide eyes. Now that they were in the well-lit greenroom, she could see many of the details about him that had escaped her before. He's been alternating with Michael Corner as the leading man in most of the plays showcased in the theatre, but Dean Thomas headlined the most successful play yet, _Romeo & Juliet_.

Even Ron said he played the part of a tortured, male lead brilliantly.

"Thanks Luna," Dean finally replied, "where is Hermione?"

"Here."

Her air of authority was unmistakable. That, and the bushy-brown hair, convinced Ginny of who she was. She felt her heart plummet to her feet, and she knew the color had left her cheeks. "You're Hermione Granger," she murmured.

Her eyes gleamed with mischief and challenge. "Yes," Hermione continued to stare at her, and if she weren't so nervous, Ginny would have noticed that she was almost fighting a grin to appear.

Finally, she nodded in apologetic acknowledgment, wondering if she had managed to ruin all chances of creating a favorable impression.

"And your name is…?" he prompted.

"Mrs. Jessarene Wrightcliffe," Ginny said, using the stage name she had invented for herself. The half-dozen people in the room stared at her curiously. She wanted to crawl away into some dark corner and hide.

"Very well, Mrs. Wrightcliffe," Hermione said softly. "Let's find out what you're capable of."

She held out one broad hand for the audition pieces she had brought, and casually riffled through the damp pages. "I see you've prepared a scene from _Pride & Prejudice. _ Excellent. I plan to showcase Jane Austen next after Shakepeare. Dean is quite familiar with it," she gestured to the tall, dark man a few feet away. "Would you mind taking the part of Mr. Darcy, Dean?"

The young man obeyed with enthusiasm.

Hermione seated herself comfortably, and the others followed suit. "If you don't mind, Mrs. Wrightcliffe, we'll allow the other members of the company to watch your audition."

Ginny did mind, actually. It was much more difficult to play a scene in front of a very small group than a large one. Although these people were ___just about her age_, give or take a few years, they are the most critical audience of all. They would mock her for wanting to be part of Muggles for Wizards—they would see immediately that she'd had no training, and precious little experience.

But she had come too far to retreat now. Ginny forced a smile to her face, and unlocked her knees in order to join the young man at the center of the greenroom.

In appearance, Dean was not the ideal Mr. Darcy — he seemed rather too friendly and carefree for the role of such a proud protagonist. On the other hand, he possessed an air of self-assurance that impressed Ginny. She had no doubt of his ability to play convincingly any character he chose.

"Elizabeth is a tricky role to choose for an audition," Hermione remarked, continuing to regard Ginny as she ascended the steps. It was unclear if she was speaking to Ginny or the others in the room.

Ginny nodded gravely, staring at her composed face. "I shall try to play her as best as I could, Ms. Granger."

There was a twitch of amusement at the corners of her mouth. "Ms. Granger," she repeated somehow with amusement. "You may begin anytime you want Mrs. Wrightcliffe."

Ginny nodded and stared at the floor in concentration, preparing herself for the scene. She glanced up at Dean, and she began to speak with Elizabeth Bennet's anguish voice after he declared his affections for her. He responded in the pure, aristocratic tones of Darcy. With each line, Ginny felt herself sinking deeper into the character. She became half-tortured, half-heartbroken, as Dean effortlessly delved into Darcy's dilemma .

Less than a minute after the scene had begun, Hermione realized that Jessarene Wrightcliffe had a remarkable presence, the kind that made the hair on the back of hair neck prickle. She had the gift of transforming herself into the character she played. Hermione knew that the talents most of the actors in the theatre were honed because of their own experiences during the war. Dean was so effective in playing Romeo because he and Parvati were separated during the war, with him being a Muggle and she a witch. What was more tragic was Parvati's death during the Final Battle.

She wonders what experiences have given depth to the talents of one Jessarene Wrightcliffe?

She interpreted the character of Lizzie Bennet with seeming effortlessness, Hermione observed as she continued to watch. She was strangely touching, with a child's hopefulness and a undeniable fascination for the man who dare to cause pain to her beloved sister, Jane Bennet. And there was a thread of calculation in her manner, a smart and subtle understanding of Lizzie's loyalty to her sibling, setting aside her growing feelings for Darcy. Hermione shook her head slightly, appreciating the fluid quality of her performance. Her glanced at the other actors and saw that they were staring raptly at the newcomer.

Ginny began to relax and enjoy the pleasure of working with an actor as experienced as Dean Thomas. He made it surprisingly easy for her to believe he was Darcy as he sneered and stalked her from one side of the room to the other.

"Thank you Dean," Hermione suddenly said.

Dean smiled at Ginny, and winked back at Hermione, before stepping down from the stage.

Startled, Ginny watched as Hermione stood from her chair and approached her.

The others in the room were silent. Ginny felt their gazes on her as she was approached by Hermione, but remained silent.

There was a long pause after that, while the members of the company continued to stare at Ginny, and Hermione pinned her with a speculative look.

Was she pleased, disappointed, uncertain?

Did she think she had any merit as an actress?

Ginny was driven to break the silence. "Shall I try another scene?" she murmured. "Something from a different play?"

"That won't be necessary." She smiled and hooked her arms with Ginny's, as if they were long-lost friends. "Come, Mrs. Wrightcliffe. I'll give you a tour of the theater."

None of the others seemed to find that surprising.

A pretty young girl with curly blonde hair and dreamy eyes approached her. "That was the best Elizabeth Bennet I've ever seen," the girl said, "Its good you didn't allow yourself to be distracted by the Nargles. I've told Hermione that the stage is infested with them…"

"Luna, there are no Nargles on the stage," exclaimed Hermione.

Ginny smiled in thanks to the woman named Luna, heartened by the remark. But Hermione's opinion was the one that meant life and death, and so far she hadn't volunteered a single word.

"You've had little, if any training," she remarked, taking her through a maze of administrative offices.

"No," Ginny said quietly.

"And not much experience."

"I've done some touring around the provinces with a traveling company."

"Traveling company," she repeated. "You deserve better than that."

"I hope I do."

She paused and showed her the theater library, filled with shelves of books on costume, scenery, and acting technique, as well as innumerable copies of different plays. Pausing at one stack of paper, she selected a worn edition of _Emma_, and handed it to her. Clutching the copy tightly, Ginny followed her from the room.

"What I ask from the actors in my company is that they strive for the most naturalistic style possible," Hermione remarked. "I can't abide the posturing and studied manners I've seen in the majority of Muggle London theaters. Most actors are overtrained who substitute extravagant gestures and pauses for real acting."

Filled with an admiration that bordered on awe, Ginny nodded in agreement. "They say you've revolutionized the stage in the Wizarding—" she began, but she interrupted her sheepishly.

"I don't deserve that, Mrs. Wrightcliffe. The only thing I wanted to do after the end of the war was some form of escape and as a child nothing else allowed me to do that but by reading classical Muggle books and romance stories."

A surprised laugh escaped her. "Really? I don't see you as someone who reads romance stories."

"Wait until you know me better."

A bubble of hope rose in her chest. "Will I?" she dared to ask, and she smiled. Strange, how a woman could smile and seem so warm, and yet there was still something unreachable about her.

"Perhaps," she replied. "You have great potential as an actress, Mrs. Wrightcliffe. You wouldn't be a bad addition to the company."

They reached the main theater hall, walking past the rear drop and side wings. Ginny accompanied Hermione to the footlights at the edge of the stage, and stared out at the auditorium. It was dim and handsome, seating approximately fifteen hundred wizards, with tiers of side boxes that rose to dizzying heights. Ginny had never been inside the place before. It was a gorgeous theater, painted red and gold. The walls were lined with columns that were covered in gold and inlaid with red glass, while the interiors of the boxes were lined with rich flowered tapestry.

The stage itself was built on a slant, so that the actors in back were elevated a few inches higher than the ones in front. Standing on the scarred floor, Ginny could almost imagine what it was like to play to an assembly of a thousand people or more.

"There are matters that need to be discussed," Hermione remarked abruptly. "Your salary, the number of performances required, the demands I make of the players… rehearsals, for example. I insist that all actors and actresses be present for every rehearsal, no matter how well they know their parts."

"I understand," Ginny said, a faint blush rising in her cheeks.

"I have a particular system for managing the company," she continued. "If you have a grievance, there is a proper time and place for airing it—you'll be informed of the particular channels later."

"Naturally," Ginny said, her heart beginning to beat fast with excitement. The way she was talking, it sounded as if she was planning to hire her.

"There is something else that must be made clear," Hermione continued. "Beyond any artistic merits it may possess, this theatre company is not just a business enterprise. I don't make all my decisions according to the need to bring in a profit: the profit doesn't come first before the welfare of its actors and employees. If there's anything I've learned from the war against He-Who-Must-Be-Named, it's the fact that people matter the most. If I decide to hire you, it's not only because of the money you may bring, but because you seem to be like each and every one of us here, war survivors. All of the actors and staff, including myself, understand that we're here for each other."

Ginny stiffened, all her hopes draining suddenly. Was she suggesting that she wanted her to say how she survived the war?

"I have no intention pry," Hermione murmured in amusement, apparently reading her thoughts. "I'm only pointing out that one of the things you can have—as well as mine and everyone else's—whilst part of this company is friendship."

"I'd like that." Ginny said fervently.

"Most of us here have known each other while students at Hogwarts. We fought for each other, and alongside each other. We didn't allow Death Eaters, posing as teachers, to defeat our minds, even if they cursed us physically. We took a stand, fought and survived" she recalled. A frown crossed her broad forehead as she contemplated her. "It just occurred to me…I don't recall any Jessarene Wrightcliffe in Hogwarts. Where did you go to school?"

The question caught her off-guard, and she answered hastily. "I.. my parents… they decided it was best for us to go on hiding----"

"Oh, that's understandable, given the situation. So you were home-schooled then?"

Ginny nodded, her eyes watering. "My Mum," she continued. "She taught me and my brother…"

There was a touch of concern in Hermione's voice. "Are you okay?"

Although she had prepared herself for the question, Ginny felt tears fall down from her eyes. She turned away from Hermione and wandered aimlessly across the stage, her arms folded over her chest, hands trying to wipe the tears. "Not really," she said without looking at her. "My parents died at Hogwarts during the Final Battle. They didn't want to continue hiding knowing that there's a chance that they could help somehow."

"I'm sorry."

When no further questions seemed forthcoming, Ginny glanced at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cry and make you feel like you have to hire me because my parents died…"

She shook his head, tugging absentmindedly at a lock of her bushy-brown hair. "Nonsense. If you wanted to use a sob story to be hired, you would have told that story on stage with the other actors watching you. We've had a couple of those."

Hermione walked closer to where she was standing, reaching out to hold her hand, "I assume you're like most people in the theater, who have a past they would like to escape."

"Even you?" she dared to ask.

Hermione nodded. "There are events in my life, especially from the last few years, I want to forget. But I realized that if I do allow myself to forget, I'd be doing a great disservice to those who gave up their lives in order for me to have the chance to live a life without fear," she glanced around the empty stage and seemed to relax. "So I decided to not forget, but just heal. I never feel entirely comfortable anywhere as I do at these offices, with the exception of Hogwarts that is. But this is home to me, now…as I hope it will become home to you, Mrs. Wrightcliffe."

A smile broke out on her face. "Yes," she murmured, sensing a little of why she so clearly loved the place. She could easily imagine the thousands of stories and personalities that had filled this stage, the air ringing with music and voices, the audience feeling the players' emotions; fear, hope, love…

In the theater a person could forget who he or she was, at least for a while. Actors could turn themselves into anyone they wished to be. That was what she wanted for herself. She would live as Jessarene Wrightcliffe, and bury all traces of Ginny Weasley—and the secret that had haunted her all her life.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2: The Search

_Harry's house, London 2003_

As soon as the hired detective left the room, Harry abandoned all pretense of calm. He vowed never to lose control again but this was too much frustration to bear. The urge to shout, hit someone, break something, was unbearable. He wasn't aware that he had been holding a glass until he heard it shatter in the library fireplace with explosive force. "Dammit, where is she?"

A few moments later, the door opened and Sirius Black peered gingerly around the edge. "Apparently the detective had no luck in finding your wife."

Harry was silent, but the uncharacteristic flush on his face betrayed his emotions.

"What did he say?" Sirius prompted.

"I don't want to talk now."

Sirius sauntered into the room, heading to the mahogany pedestal side cabinet that held rows of opulent cut-glass decanters. "You know," he remarked casually, "it's not necessary that you find Ginny Weasley in order to get rid of her. You've been searching for three years, and there's no sign of her here or abroad, in both Muggle and Wizarding cities. It's clear that Ron & Ginny Weasley died during or before the Final Battle, thus the reason you can't find them. We found Arthur and Molly near the gates of Hogwarts after your defeat of Voldemort."

"That proves nothing."

"If you knew Molly and Arthur as I did, that is something."

"They could have told both their children to not come to Hogwarts," Harry said grimly. "If I had children, I would have done the same."

Harry continued to stare at the firelight. "I need to be sure. The Weasleys could have erased the memories of their children to save them from the war."

Sirius shook his head as he handed a fresh glass of Firewhiskey to his godson. "You and your damned sense of responsibility. Any other man in your position would cast off Ginny Weasley like unwanted ballast."

Taking a deep swallow of the fiery liquid, Harry stood from his desk and wandered around the room. "I need to find her. She was a victim in this as much as I. The agreement was made without our consent, but at least we can dissolve it together. Besides, I don't want to take any steps without making some kind of settlement on her."

"With her parent's rewards behind her, she has no need of a settlement."

"There's a possibility she has no idea of the Ministry reward. I won't know until I find her."

"You have a point. The reward still remains unclaimed. She might have found other means to support herself, or maybe Ron supports himself and Ginny."

"If that were true, I'd have located them by now."

Sirius watched as his godson went to stand at the window. "It was a damned strange decision James, Arthur and Dumbledore made, marrying you off at age seven with Ginny who was five, in order to secure that second prophecy didn't come to pass. It's still hard to believe that everyone understood it wrong. You and Ginny didn't have to marry after all."

"I wanted to see Ginny growing up, but the Weasleys went into hiding after the wedding and because of Voldemort, it was easier to pretend she didn't exist. But now, I couldn't help acknowledge that she was—_is_—part of my life." Harry's fingers clenched tight around the glass.

"Is the marriage legal?" Sirius asked.

"According to the Ministry, no—but that's not the point. They made a promise all those years ago, one involving me. It's my responsibility to honor it, or at least ensure that the Ginny & Ron Weasley were given their due. It cost them their lives. They had to go on hiding, had to leave their home, had to abandon their lives because our fathers and Dumbledore made a huge mistake."

"Honor…responsibility…" Sirius shivered and grimaced playfully. "My two least favorite words."

Harry swirled his drink and stared moodily into the glass.

Ginny Weasley.

Each letter of her name was a link in the invisible chain that bound him. He would never be at peace until the matter was resolved.

"I've imagined Ginny a hundred different ways," Harry said. "I can't stop wondering about her, and what kind of woman she grew up to be. I remember going to The Burrow when we were younger. She had a million freckles on her face, with huge chocolate brown eyes," he reminisced, "She used to have earsplitting tantrums whenever we refused to play with her. Ron and I always tried to hide from her but she kept on insisting she be included. She was such a nuance for Ron. I never admitted it back then, but the games were always more animated when Ginny played with us."

Sirius listened, transfixed. That was the first time he had heard Harry tell of how he remembered the Weasleys. They were always such a sore subject since he was made aware of the marriage to Ginny.

"When you do locate her, Ginny may want to hold you to your obligation. Have you considered that? You're the Chosen One, afterall." There was a teasing glint in Sirius's dark blue eyes as he added, "Didn't Ginny had a crush on you when you were younger. Maybe she followed you and not Ron back in the days."

"Shut up." An amused laugh escaped Harry. "We were five and seven years old."

"Ahh... it seems ickle Harry also had a crush on ickle Ginny." Sirius continued to tease, "Well, whatever you may find, you better make a decision soon because Cho Chang is waiting on the wings, so to speak."

"I'm not going to marry Cho."

"She's told everyone in willing to listen that you will propose soon. Merlin's beard, Harry, don't you think you should tell her the rumors are true, that you are in fact married?"

The subject of Cho Chang, Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies, caused Harry's scowl to deepen. The sultry Asian had pursued him ardently for a year, invading his privacy and cornering him at the few social events he attended. Cho was the kind of woman who knew exactly how to please a man. She was beautiful and dark-haired, completely uninhibited in bed, and possessed a dry sense of humor that appealed to Harry.

In spite of his better judgment, he had begun an affair with Cho about six months ago. It had been pleasant and non-committal. Recently, however, Cho had begun a campaign to become Mrs. Harry James Potter. So far she had been wise enough not to pressure him or make demands. In fact, she hadn't yet dared to ask him if the gossip was true, if he already had a wife.

"In not so many words, I've told Cho many times not to hope for a future with me," Harry said gruffly. "So don't pity her if you think I've misled her."

"Oh, I don't pity Cho," Sirius assured him. "I know that you won't make any promises to her." A sly grin curved his mouth. "She must be damned entertaining in bed though."

Harry rolled his eyes at that last comment. "She's good at many things. Beautiful, charming, and intelligent. All things considered, she wouldn't make a bad wife."

"You're not seriously considering…" Sirius frowned and stared at him in surprise. "Talk like that alarms me, Harry! Cho may like you, may even be fond of you, but in my opinion she's in love with the idea of the hero and not you."

"Where does Harry the hero end and Harry the person begins? Sometimes I can't even tell myself." Harry murmured, his face inscrutable.

A quizzical silence passed, and Sirius appeared nonplussed. Then he gave a short laugh. "Well, I can't say that you have had the opportunity to find time for love, with a blood-thirsty maniac wanting to kill you the first 17 years of your life. Plus, I guess it doesn't help that you've had a wife since age seven which counted as a handicap."

Harry remained silent, Sirius concluded with a much serious tone, "You haven't let yourself feel anything for a woman because of some obligation to a girl you haven't seen in more than 15 years. My advice is, stop looking for Ginny Weasley because she, obviously, doesn't want to be found. Most especially by you."

"Always the optimist," Harry accused ruefully, and motioned for his Sirius to leave with him. "I'll consider your advice, dear old godfather. In the meantime, I have to a game to win against the Tornados."


End file.
